


Bleeding Out

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, M/M, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26939092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: After being abducted by hunters, Peter is bleeding out in a basement. He doesn't really hope for a rescue. However, he is in for a surprise.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale
Series: Whumptober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949101
Comments: 4
Kudos: 134
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Bleeding Out

**Author's Note:**

> For Whumptober Day 10: Blood Loss

A constant dripping noise echoes around the room.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

It sounds like a seeping tap. But Peter knows perfectly fine that the liquid dripping on the floor is not water. It is his own blood.

A red puddle under his feet, growing larger with every second.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

He wishes he could turn the noises off. He wishes he could turn off everything at once. Every sensation. It is all torture right now.

Peter starts to feel lightheaded. 

It gets hard to focus. 

How did he get here again? Oh, yes. There was a group of hunters. He was patrolling alone like he always does. Derek always calls him stupid for it. Chris does too. But they don’t understand what it feels like to be alone at night, with only the forest’s noises as companions. 

After tedious hours of being surrounded by a malfunctioning pack and nosy teenagers and a stupid Alpha he didn't ask for, it is merciful oblivion. 

Only, this time, it was a death trap.

Peter is still wondering how they knew he would be there. It was clearly a planned attack. He didn’t even have time to call for help before passing out. And now he is in the middle of nowhere, dangling from the ceiling of some basement, bleeding on the floor.  
  
He has no idea how long it has been since they left him alone.

Long enough for the effects of blood loss to settle in. He doesn't even feel the pain of his wounds anymore. Somehow, the flow of blood doesn’t seem to stop. And that's exactly what they aimed for, right? They cut him open with a knife coated in wolfsbane so that the wound won’t close and now he’s been left to bleed out.  
  
How very original. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Time passes. Peter wonders if anyone is searching for him. Probably not. He isn’t worth the effort. One of the hunters said so too. With a sneer and a laugh. Some of them, he said, might even be glad to get rid of you. The reality of the words didn't exactly _hurt_ , but they caused a faint pulse of something familiar.

It gets harder to breathe.  
  
The room is blurry and the smell of iron fades out every other scent.  
  
It is kind of sad, Peter thinks vaguely, closing his eyes. Dying like that. There is nothing dramatic about it. There is no last fight, no last chance to let the wolf play. The wolf is just as tired as he is, lingering in the back and whining in confusion. 

It is sad. Pathetic, really. 

But well. This time, there is no coming back from it. This time, death will be finite. No secret back up plan. No dramatic come-back. He isn’t scared of it. Not at all. But … There is still some regret, dripping out of him like his blood. He lost so much time, with the fire, the coma and then his first death. So much time … There were many things he would like to have done. 

When Peter was a child, his mother used to marvel about Paris. She could talk about the city and the food and the wine for hours. Peter listened and knew, one day, he would go there too. 

But he has never been there. Has never even gotten out of Beacon Hills. 

It isn’t his only regret. But it is one of those that cut the sharpest. 

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

Soon now. Peter can already feel the grasp of darkness. It creeps into his field of vision and he feels no desire to fight it. He has no strength left anyway. 

He listens to the ever same dripping noise, breathing shallowly, shivering from the cold he suddenly feels with every cell of his body - like a human would.  
  
 _Drip. Drip. Drip._  
  
There is only the noise of his blood dripping, until there is more.  
  
Until there is shouting and shooting and a door slamming open. However, it all seems to come from a great distance.  
  
Suddenly, there is Chris - Christopher Argent, right in front of him, yelling at him to stay the fuck awake. 

Peter vaguely wonders if Chris is even real. Maybe, he is a last hallucination. It wouldn’t be the first time he is hallucinating. Once, he dreamt about Chris saving his life, but that was long ago and before there was too much blood between them.  
  
But this Chris seems to be real. He stares at Peter wide-eyed and then shouts something to someone behind him, Derek? Yes. It is Derek. Stiles lingers in the back, his face very white, more than usual. And, to Peter’s surprise, Deaton enters the basement too. Which indicates that they counted on finding him injured. Huh.  
  
Peter groans when Chris and Derek cut through the ropes with knives and claws, lowering him to the floor carefully. 

At least, the dripping has finally stopped. 

The dizziness hasn't.

Peter closes his eyes because the world is like a boat, swaying from side to side, only to open them a moment later, when he feels something sharp and hot at his side, where the largest gash is. It _hurts_. 

There is a whine he barely recognizes as his own, and then a cool calloused hand on his forehead. A voice, telling him it will be alright.  
  
Chris sounds awfully tense. 

It makes Peter wonder … Maybe, there hasn’t been too much blood between them after all? Maybe, there is one regret he could still get rid of. Maybe. If he survives this. He thinks he will. He already feels a bit stronger. Whatever Deaton did, it is helping his body to heal.

Peter stares up at Chris, stares into crystal blue eyes and involuntarily leans into the touch, because it just feels too good. It is exactly, what his overheated body needs. 

Chris stares back down at him, his mouth a thin grim line. 

Peter smiles. “Will you go to Paris with me?” he asks, his voice heavy and his throat raspy, but he does get the words out after all.

Chris blinks, and then snorts, choking on laughter. 

“I will, you idiot. I will.” 


End file.
